


A Look Into Madness

by CaptainNautical



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asylum, Confused Sherlock, Demons, Horror, Hurt John Watson, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Horror, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:36:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainNautical/pseuds/CaptainNautical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Patient Watson shows signs of PTSD; induced by childhood trauma and service in the war."<br/>Sherlock and John make their way to an abandoned Asylum that is illegibly haunted with more than a few ghosts in their turn. Sherlock Holmes goes to prove otherwise, dragging John Watson into something neither of them are prepared for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Look Into Madness

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prologue to something I may or may not write. My procrastination skills oversee my motivation so I cannot promise you guys anything (ifanyonereadsthis)

He found him huddled in the back against a glass wall in an otherwise bare room. The torch fell across his face and John Watson did not react, did not even flinch to the sudden light blinking into the darkness. 

Bare arms were wrapped around bare knees, muscles twitching and spasming in place. A hospital gown fastened around his neck and waist with bows at the end of it in small loops. 

Sherlock was kneeling next to him with tentative hands flexing at his sides. John just barely flicked his far away eyes up to him in response. Sherlock’s slender hands reached out to touch John’s knee and a harsh yelp was greeted in turn. John Watson’s yelp. It could not be him. Truly it was someone else. 

John had shoved himself away, the touch bringing him back to life with a jolt that seemed to course through his very frame as he was now rocking back and forth and clutching the gown in his fists. Sherlock’s panic spiked in his chest. 

“John.” Sherlock tried softly. John’s head flinched and tilted. 

“Patient Watson shows signs of PTSD; induced by childhood trauma and service in the war.” 

Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed. “John, stop it. Get up with me, now. I’m going to get us out, alright?”

John was suddenly laughing. The noise so out of context it knotted Sherlock’s stomach in a horrible twist. It was a swell of laughter, rising from his throat as if it had no choice but to scream out of him as manic as he looked. It echoed against the wall and reverberated back to Sherlock’s ears. 

“John we have to go. Stop it now.”

“No. Says I’m not ready yet. I’m not ready yet, Sherlock. Have to get better before I can leave.” 

“What are you talking-”

“Patient Watson shows signs of PTSD; induced by childhood trauma and-”

“Shut up.” Sherlock was suddenly seizing John by his arms and pulling him up. “I don’t know what you’re pulling but whatever the hell it is you need to cut it out, John.” Sherlock yelled in the man’s pale face.

“That’s what he said too.” John nodded his head eagerly, lifting his wrist to try and show them to Sherlock. Sherlock clasped onto both of them and pulled him forward and away from the window. John complied but only after twisting his wrist in Sherlock’s hands. 

“Sherlock I can’t leave.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No. No you see he told me to stay.” John yanked his wrist away and lifted it up for Sherlock. Sherlock took in a sharp breath of confusion and disbelief as he took John’s hand and turned it over to see a patients tag strapped around it. 

“Where did you get this?”

“Doctor gave it to me.”

“John, who gave this to you?” He demanded again, pulling closer and reading the words ‘heart transplant’ written in all caps. 

“Have to cut it out.” John repeated, nodding his head like a child dutiful to his responsibilities.

“We’re leaving.”

~~

As soon as they stepped out of the room something shifted in the air. The weight he was supporting grew solid and John was suddenly standing straight.

“Sherlock?” His blogger’s real voice asked and Sherlock felt the weight in his chest release. 

“You’re losing your mind, John Watson.” 

“Am...Am I? Hey wait why am I wearing this where’ve my trousers gone?”

“I do wish you would tell me that. Where did you go? Who put you in this and what in the hell did they do to you? Also you’re never watching a horror movie again, so help me god.”

“But I didn’t go anywhere. I… was with you.”


End file.
